Fractured
by Write0rDie
Summary: Clara did not come away unscathed after the events of S08 Flatline. Twelve takes care of her injury but his bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Hurt/Comfort - heavy on the hurt in chapter 1 and an extra serving of grumpy Twelve.
1. Chapter 1

Clara followed The Doctor back into the TARDIS from the train yards and shut the door quietly. He had already paced ahead to the console and was keying in the coordinates to her flat.

Clara was still stinging from his backhanded compliment. _You were an exceptional Doctor, Clara. Goodness had nothing to do with it._

Clara turned from the closed door and felt a sharp pain in her side. It was sudden but disappeared the moment she straightened. She walked to the console a little gingerly.

There was an awkward silence before The Doctor pulled the lever and sent the TARDIS off in a flurry of light and sound. It was only a short hop from Bristol to London and it landed after only a few seconds.

The Doctor leaned heavily on the console and looked down. He didn't seem pleased.

She waited for a moment for him to say something. Perhaps a goodbye? When he didn't speak, she turned on her heel to leave. The stab of pain was back. Clara tried to ignore it as she walked towards the door, her breathing a little shallow.

"Clara?" he asked looking up.

She stopped and turned slowly to face him.

"What's the matter with your back? I've seen Cybermen move more fluidly than you."

"Nothing," she said innocently. It wasn't a lie; her back was fine. The bag on her shoulder started to slip and she reached up to adjust the strap. Clara winced but turned it into a nervous smile to try and hide it.

The Doctor was not fooled. He rounded the console pinning her with an intense gaze as he pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his jacket and started scanning.

"It's fine, Doctor. Don't make a fuss," she said stepping away from him.

"Don't make a fuss of what exactly?" He moved behind her scanning her back. When The Doctor found nothing he moved towards her side.

"I'm just a bit sore, that's all."

He took her left wrist and raised her arm to let the sonic investigate closer to her side. An excruciating pain shot through Clara's ribs and she pulled away from him. It knocked the breath right out of her and she stood panting, holding her side protectively.

"Don't.. touch.. me!" she hissed. Her face was thunderous and she looked like she could slap him.

"Clara, let me help you," he said gently, palms out as a gesture of trust.

She steadied her breathing, the pain dissipating slightly but she still kept her hand around her torso. Her eyes were watering and she blinked the tears away just so she could see straight.

He scanned her with the sonic again, eyebrows raising slightly as he found the cause of the problem. "You've fractured your ribs Clara." He switched the sonic off before discarding it onto the console with a little more force than necessary.

Clara couldn't meet his gaze. She felt slightly ashamed that she wasn't invincible. After all her knocking about with The Doctor, this was a timely reminder that she was a breakable human being, without the luxury of seemingly endless regenerations.

The adrenaline of the day was starting to wear off and she felt suddenly very weary. The Doctor lifted her bag carefully off her shoulder and sat it down on the floor. She didn't realise he had gently guided her to a jump seat until she was being eased down onto the chair.

Clara didn't argue when he slipped the jacket off her shoulders. The Doctor crouched down beside her and pulled her shirt up at her side to just under her bra strap. A patch of red, slightly swollen skin indicated the site of the fractures.

"Did you do this falling out the window with that Fluorescent Pudding Brain?" he asked as he gently palpated the area.

She winced and he immediately ceased his prodding and dropped the shirt. "No, I think it was when we jumped off the train."

The Doctor stood up to his full height and looked down at her sitting stiffly on the chair. Clara looked even smaller than usual.

"And I suppose the train was moving at the time?" he asked.

"Of course." She didn't meet his gaze, finding the floor suddenly very interesting.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Doctor, if I hadn't been on that train I wouldn't have found the TARDIS on the tracks," she said attempting to justify her recklessness.

Clara winced as she stood up awkwardly holding her side. "And if I hadn't found the TARDIS, you would have suffocated by now and The Boneless would have kept flattening everything. I just saved the world remember?"

"Fair point," he conceded with a nod. "Now, let's get you home."

* * *

><p>Clara sat on her bed back in her flat. She carefully rested her foot up on her knee as she attempted to remove her sneakers, trying not to move too much. The sharp pain was back and she found herself holding her breath to ease it.<p>

Clara began pulling at the laces as The Doctor returned from the kitchen with a glass of water. He placed it on the bedside table and threw down a packet of Solpadeine Max that he'd found in a drawer.

The Doctor didn't say a word as he took hold of her shoe and slid it off her foot, letting it drop to the floor. He motioned for her to give him her other foot and he made short work of the laces. The second sneaker soon dropped next to the other.

The Doctor handed her the glass before pushing two tablets out of the blister pack and onto her hand. "You will take two of these. No arguments Clara."

She threw the tablets down with a sip of water. Of course there would be no argument; she was in agony. Even the slightest of movement caused a biting pain that made her blink back tears.

"You know for a Doctor, you have a lousy bedside manner."

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her. "I won't coddle you, Clara. Call your boyfriend if you want a cuddle." The Doctor took the glass out of her hand. "Where's your phone?" he asked bluntly.

"Please don't call Danny," she said wearily.

"I'm not calling PE. Visiting hours are over." He held out his hand expectantly. "Come on, hand it over."

Clara reluctantly pulled the phone out of her pocket and held it out to him. The Doctor took it and turned it to silent with his sonic screwdriver before placing it on the bedside table.

"Soldier Boy can come over and canoodle with you tomorrow. Nothing too energetic though. Doctor's orders." He pulled the duvet back and patted the mattress as an invitation for her to lie down.

"Shouldn't I wrap my ribs in a bandage or something?" she asked looking up at him.

"That's rubbish first aid. You don't wrap fractured ribs. Come on." He pointed to the bed. "Head on pillow. Now."

"I don't think I can," she said quietly. The very thought of moving anywhere made the blood drain from her face. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think about the jagged edges of her rib bones grating together.

He sighed in exasperation. "Clara, you can't sit up all night. Now lie down so I can ice it."

Clara carefully scooted up further along the bed. She slowly crawled up onto the mattress and fell toward the pile of pillows. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she was breathing in shallow little pants as the stabbing pain shot through her.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows then tilted his head, studying her for a moment as she lay in a foetal position. She really was in a lot of pain. The sooner the pills kicked in the better.

"I can't ice your ribs like that. Kindly untangle yourself," he said making a circular motion with his finger towards her.

When she didn't move he took the liberty of assisting her, gently straightening her limbs until she was reasonably untangled, face still buried in the pillows. "Seriously Clara, I could go to Gallifrey and back in the time it takes to get you into bed."

Her head turned more towards him as she straightened on the mattress. He caught a glimpse of fresh tears on the pillow. _Five foot one and crying._

His face softened a bit and he tried to offer her some comfort. "The codeine will kick in soon and reach peak concentration in about an hour." He brushed the hair out of her face as she swallowed thickly, trying to clear her throat without coughing.

By the looks of things it was already starting to work. Clara's breathing seemed to slow and she looked a bit drowsy.

"Your gastrointestinal tract is absorbing the codeine as we speak. Actually as _I_ speak. You're not doing much speaking at all which quite frankly is a refreshing change from the usual."

He continued his commentary on the process of codeine conversion as he gently rolled her over on her side, one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder.

"The codeine then turns into morphine in the liver, by a helpful little enzyme called CYP2D6."

Clara found her eyes drifting shut as The Doctor went on and on about enzymes and metabolisers and other medical jargon she didn't care about.

Sensing her disinterest, he left for a moment to look for an ice pack. She could hear him fumbling around in the freezer. When he returned she heard the soft sound of the ice pack being bent into a more malleable shape before he placed it on the offending ribs under her left arm.

Clara shivered slightly as the cold shot through her. The Doctor took his cue and pulled the duvet up and settled it around her shoulders.

"Call if you need me," he said taking the phone from the bedside table and putting it next to the pillow beside her.

She didn't answer. He leaned over and saw that her eyes were fully closed. The Doctor brushed the hair out of her face again, tucking the lose strands behind her ear.

He lingered for a moment at the door, considering whether or not he should stay. The Doctor drummed his fingers on the door frame quietly before deciding to retire to the TARDIS.


	2. Chapter 2

"Tickets please."

Clara jerked awake. She found herself seated on a train, head leaning against the window as it sped along. She must have dozed off.

"Tickets please, Miss," the voice repeated patiently.

She looked up to see a ticket inspector standing above her. He was an older gent in his fifties with a kind but well-worn face.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I have a ticket," she managed to say finally.

The inspector looked down at the ticket in her hand. "Had a big night have we love?"

He took the ticket from her and punched a hole in it with his machine. "Never mind. Nothing a good cup of coffee won't fix." He handed it back to her with a wink and moved on down the carriage.

Clara looked out the window as scene rolled by of an urban jungle with industrial buildings, car parks and the odd housing estate.

The PA system crackled to life above her and a cheery voice made a courtesy announcement. "Thank you for travelling on South West Trains. This is the express service from London Waterloo to Bristol Temple Meads." The voice sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

The train was mostly empty but Clara spotted a familiar face at the end of the carriage. It was Rigsy. He was hunched over a comic, a large black bag at his feet and his cap drawn down low over his face.

She got up and made her way to the end of the carriage where he was sitting. "Rigsy?"

He looked up from his comic. "Clara! What are you doing here?" he said smiling broadly. He stood to his feet and gave her a hug, still holding the comic book in his hand.

"I'm not sure. I think I'm supposed to be going to something in Bristol."

"A fancy dress?"

"What?"

"Oh nothing.. It's just you're a little overdressed for Bristol." He said bashfully.

Clara looked down. She hadn't noticed before but she was wearing the vintage nineteen-twenties era dress she wore with The Doctor on the Orient Express.

Seeing her embarrassment he offered an explanation for her odd attire.

"It's a costume party right? There's a guy in the next carriage dressed as a Mummy and he's scaring the hell of the kids." Rigsy obviously found the whole thing highly amusing but Clara's eyes went wide with shock. She glanced through the window between the carriages as they bumped along.

She stared right past Rigsy as he continued. "He looks totally realistic. I swear there are bits of him missing and everything."

She could see it plain as day; a Mummy wrapped in bandages sitting there with the other passengers reading a newspaper.

"We need to go. Now," she said eyes glued to the Mummy in the next carriage.

"Go where? This train is express. It's not stopping until Bristol."

Clara turned towards the carriage behind them. Rigsy sensed her intention. "You can't go in there. It's First Class."

"Too bad, I'm going." She strode through the carriage. Rigsy picked up his bag and followed.

As they entered the First Class Carriage, the scene changed dramatically. Gone was the modern commuter train and appearing before them was a beautifully ornate carriage from the Orient Express. It was the Dining Car, set out with exquisite meals at each place setting. But where were all the people?

"This is awesome!" Rigsy said as he sat down. He grabbed a fork and started picking at someone else's food.

"Rigsy!"

"Chill. There's no one here. Can't let it go to waste." He started shovelling food into his mouth, nervously looking around every now and then to make sure they were still alone.

Clara looked back through the carriage window to where they had just come from. The Mummy wasn't following. She sighed with relief.

There was the unmistakable sound of a spray can being shaken. Clara turned and saw Rigsy hunched on the ground, ready to tag the First Class Carriage window.

"Rigsy, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" He took the cap off the can and started spraying his name on the window in black.

"You can't do that to this beautiful train!" She went over to stop him but it was too late. The window was ruined and Rigsy was shaking up another can, red this time.

The PA system crackled to life again. The familiar voice was back. "Graffiti is not allowed. Air will now be removed from the First Class Dining Car."

Clara's eyes widened as she recognised the voice. It was Gus, the computer from the Orient Express with the homicidal tendencies.

The cheery computer voice continued. "We apologise for any distress this may cause."

The effects were immediate. Clara felt the air getting thinner and she rushed towards the carriage door with the intention of escaping to another passenger car. The door was locked.

"Quick, Rigsy. Try the other doors."

Rigsy dropped his can of paint and ran to the exit. He pulled on the door handle but to no avail. They were trapped.

Clara was running out of air but Rigsy seemed at this stage to be less affected. He tried to kick out a window as Clara began to wobble slightly. She gasped for air, stars dancing in the corner of her vision. Her limbs gave way and she crumpled to the floor. She saw Rigsy drop too just as her vision went to black.

* * *

><p>Clara woke suddenly, pulse racing and struggling to get her breath. She coughed a few times hard into the pillow and felt the stabbing pain in her side. A strangled sob escaped her and she curled into a ball under the duvet.<p>

She heard a click as the lamp on her bedside table was suddenly turned on.

Clara tried to get her breathing under control. The less she used her lungs the less it hurt. Her throat was dry and she couldn't help but cough again, clutching at her side in an effort to ease the pain.

The duvet was thrown back and she felt a hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she coughed again weakly. She felt another hand rubbing her back in a soothing motion, just the way Danny did sometimes at the end of a long day of teaching.

She swallowed thickly, clearing her throat as she reached up and grabbed Danny's hand. Clara entwined her fingers in his and smiled, rolling towards him.

"Danny," she whispered giving the hand a little kiss as she settled again into the pillows, still half asleep.

But something didn't feel right. These were long boney fingers not Danny's short digits. The scent was different too.

A voice piped up, dripping with irritation. "No, not Danny. _Doctor._"

Her eyes shot open and she dropped The Doctor's hand like a memory worm, a look of horror on her face as she retreated across the mattress.

The Doctor stood up suddenly. He had the look of a startled owl. "Why would Danny be here? How would he even get in?"

"He has a key," she spat out.

"Danny has a key to _your_ flat?" he asked. The Doctor could hardly believe it. He looked slightly offended as this new piece of data sunk in. "Well if _he_ has a key, _I_ should have a key."

"You don't need a key because you have a TARDIS." Her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted the blue box in the corner. "Which I might add, you keep _inappropriately_ parking in my bedroom!"

She sat up fully, holding the sheet up to her neck to cover herself. Not that it mattered, she was still in her clothes and not her pyjamas but she was so disorientated she didn't realise.

Clara squinted at the readout of her alarm clock. "Doctor, it's 3am. What are you even doing here?"

"I'm waiting for your painkillers to wear off so I can dose you again."

"I don't want any more, thank you," she said pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Too bad," he said bluntly. It didn't sound like he was in the mood for negotiation.

"It really doesn't hurt that much," she said wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Really, Clara?" He took the sonic screw driver out of his pocket. "There are certain involuntary responses to pain that cannot be hidden. Your mouth may be good at lying but the rest of you isn't."

The Doctor flicked the sonic on and waved it in front of her. "Increase in pulse and respiration. Muscle tension and your sickly pallor."

She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Irritability," he added.

"Speak for yourself," she said dryly.

"Impertinence." The list of symptoms was growing. The Doctor flicked the sonic off and returned it to the pocket inside his jacket.

There was a long pause as Clara considered her next move. She was too tired to be bothered arguing any more. "If I take them will you go away and let me sleep?"

"Yes," he promised.

Clara reached her hand out and he passed the glass of water over. The Doctor popped two more codeine tablets and she swallowed them obediently as he hovered nearby.

"I'm quite sure you get some kind of kick from drugging me into oblivion." She settled back into the pillows, closing her eyes.

"I will never take pleasure in your suffering Clara. Never." She could tell he really meant it. In his own way he was just trying to help her.

The lamp was turned off and the last thing she felt was a kiss on her forehead before she once again plunged into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

"And what are you doing out of bed?" The Doctor asked, barely looking up as he twisted a Phillips-head screwdriver in a tangle of silicon and wires at the TARDIS console.

"Can't sleep," Clara said wearily as she approached looking quite dishevelled. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a serious case of bed hair that matched her crumpled clothes.

"I keep dreaming about trains," she complained rubbing her eyes.

"Clara, it's 4:30am," he scolded.

She stumbled over to the jump seat and sat down heavily. "Do you have any of those sleep patch things?"

"Out of the question," he said bluntly.

"Please, can I have one?" Clara said sweetly.

"No."

"Can we go for coffee then?"

The Doctor paused his jiggery-pokery and turned to face her, eyebrows raised. "Caffeine and codeine? Your body is trying to heal itself and you want those two chemicals playing fisticuffs in your blood stream?"

Clara slumped back in the chair and pouted slightly, looking away. At least her ribs weren't hurting. The codeine was doing wonders at the moment and she felt a delicious warm feeling all over.

The Doctor turned back to the console and put down his screwdriver. He pulled a display over and brought up a detailed schematic of the circuit he was repairing.

"Have you tried counting goats?" he said over his shoulder.

"It's sheep, Doctor. And it doesn't work," she said unamused.

With the Doctor's back turned, Clara got up and casually ascended the stairs to the upper level, pretending to search for a book. She found a set of drawers and opened them, pulling out a silver case. She picked up a small circular patch of cellophane which was etched with symbols.

The Doctor's hand suddenly came out of nowhere and gripped her forearm. His other hand slapped her on the wrist as you would do to a disobedient child. "Drop it," he said.

She stood there for a moment slack-jawed, her wrist stinging slightly. _'The man's a bloody ninja,'_ she thought.

Clara put the sleep patch back into the case. The Doctor didn't loosen his grip on her arm until she'd shut it completely. He confiscated the case, dropping it back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

"I said no and I _meant_ no," he said in a low tone, his boney finger pointing down at her. "And stop doing that thing with your eyes," he added. The Doctor ran a hand through his hair in frustration and turned away from her with a heavy sigh.

Clara didn't say a word, but she blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill out onto her face. She was overtired and feeling a bit sensitive.

He turned back to face her. "An hour ago you were accusing me of drugging you into oblivion and now you're lifting my mood patches." He gestured towards his personal stash in the drawer she'd just raided.

Clara's face flushed again, this time from embarrassment. She seemed to have suddenly broken out in a sweat and she looked a bit green.

"No, no you don't," he said as if sensing the inevitable. The Doctor grabbed her by the upper arm and started pulling her down the stairs. "No being sick. TARDIS rules, remember?"

She covered her mouth with her free hand and swallowed down a wave of nausea as he guided her past the console and towards the door.

"Nausea is a known side effect of using codeine, but it'll pass," he explained as he pushed her out the door towards her bed. She crawled towards the pillows and lay down flat. The room was spinning and she closed her eyes for a moment to get some relief.

Clara heard a bin being put by the bed and swallowed again. She didn't want to experience the humiliation of spewing in front of him so she turned her head away.

The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver out and scanned her from top to toe, head tilting as he looked down at her prone form.

The bed dipped and as he sat down on the edge. His hand rested on her back for a moment before it started moving in slow soothing circles. If he could just get her to sleep she wouldn't be feeling so unwell and he could get back to repairing his machine.

"Clara?"

"Hmm?" she said into the mattress. Clara's stomach was beginning to settle under his ministrations.

"Look at me."

She turned her head towards him, looking bleary-eyed and confused.

The Doctor pressed his index finger into her forehead. "Goodnight Clara," he said as Clara's eyes rolled back and her heavy lids closed. She fell a deep slumber in seconds.

The Doctor pulled the duvet over her and gave her an affectionate pat on the rump as he left.

* * *

><p>Clara woke with a start. She was still lying on her stomach but she had managed to kick the duvet off in her sleep. It lay in a heap on the floor.<p>

She rolled off the bed and and headed for the kitchen, noting on the way out that the TARDIS was no longer parked in her bedroom.

Kettle on, mug out and a teabag dropped in it. Clara went to pick up a teaspoon from the edge of the sink but failed to grasp it. She tried again and realised that it wasn't a teaspoon, it was just the image of one, flattened into the sink as if it had been painted on.

She looked around and suddenly realised that other items had been flattened; the fridge, fish tank and the rest of the dishes which she had left out on the sink to dry.

"Doctor!" she called backing away slowly. Clara hoped by some chance that he was still somewhere in the flat.

There was no reply. She rushed out of the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom, looking for her phone on the bedside table. Clara reached her hand out but realised that her phone too had been flattened. She recoiled in horror.

As she stepped backwards her heel went into something sharp and she cried out in pain. It was like stepping on a a piece of Lego. She looked down and saw the TARDIS in micro-form, no more than an inch high.

She picked it up and tried to open the doors to see if The Doctor was still inside, but she couldn't get it open with her big fingers. She heard a noise behind her and spun around and caught sight of something on the wall. It was a flattened and dissected circulatory system, just like the one she saw in the flat in Bristol belonging to poor PC Forrest. The Boneless were not just in her flat, they were in her bedroom and they had just taken a victim.

Her eyes went wide as she looked closer. Clara screamed and covered her mouth in shock. The flattened circulatory system on her wall had _two hearts_. It was The Doctor, dissected by the Boneless right in front of her eyes.

She stumbled out of bedroom, tears flowing freely now as she noticed more items in her flat that had once been three dimensional were now flattened on the wall in the hallway. Her favourite books and her owl ornament from the bookshelf were now carelessly splattered and skewed at odd angles on the wall and ceiling.

Clara pulled open the sliding doors onto her balcony, gasping for fresh air as she reached the railing. She looked back as more of her items of furniture were being flattened by an invisible force.

There was no way out. Clara had nowhere to go so she carefully climbed over the railing and began to lower herself down to the balcony on a lower floor. The only problem was that she was too short and her legs had no way of reaching the railing on the floor below. Her arms gave out and she fell screaming as she plunged towards the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

The Doctor stood at a blackboard on the upper level, scribbling equations with a stick of white chalk. He heard the door to the TARDIS open sharply and then close with a slam. Clara's heavy footfalls were on the stairs as she approached, stomping her way up to where he was standing.

"Did you give me that horrible dream?" she said pointing her finger at him accusingly.

The Doctor ceased his writing and slowly turned to face her. Her eyes were wild and pieces of her hair were standing up on gravity-defying angles.

"What horrible dream?" he asked plainly.

"The one I just had. The one you gave me after you put me to sleep with your finger."

"Clara, I did no such thing. What is this?" he said waving at her bird's nest hair and crumpled shirt, deftly changing the subject.

"What?"

"This _look_ you're going for this morning."

"Doctor, I just got up."

"It's very.. early 21st Century hobo."

Clara fumed silently for a moment before continuing on the original subject. "In the dream, The Boneless were in my flat. They flattened everything. I couldn't get out and you were dissected on the wall." She looked quite shaken.

His eyebrows raised an inch off his face. "Clara, why would I give you a dream like that? It doesn't make any sense."

She thought about it for a moment before speaking again. "When we finished with The Boneless you seemed upset.. angry with me. I thought that.."

"Is that what you think of me? That I would give you a nasty dream like that to punish you for something?" He looked hurt and she swore that she could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He turned away to his blackboard and started scribbling again.

She swallowed thickly as she realised what a foolish thought it was. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly.

Clara sat down in his high-backed brown leather chair, watching him as he plotted out what looked like a planetary orbit on the blackboard.

"The truth is Clara, I merely suggested to your subconscious that you should have a sleep and your subconscious whole-heartedly agreed. You were about to spill your juices all over the floor so I put you out of your misery."

He waited for Clara to thank him but no gratitude was forthcoming. "You're welcome," he added dryly. "Whatever dreams you had came from your own head."

Clara sat in silence as she pondered The Doctor's words. It was highly unusual for her to have so many nightmares at once.

"And I think you should lay off the codeine," he said as he continued writing on the board. "I don't think it agrees with you. Switch to paracetamol."

The Doctor finished writing and dropped the chalk before turning to a nearby table. He picked up a takeaway coffee and handed it to her.

"But Doctor you said.."

"Relax. It's decaf."

He threw a block of dark chocolate into her lap. "Why are you giving me chocolate for breakfast?" she asked.

"This is the closest to a mood patch I'm willing to give you, Clara. Dark chocolate contains phenylethylamine which encourages the brain to release endorphins. I'm kind of hoping if you eat it you'll stop biting my head off."

Clara giggled. The Doctor was right though; she was not an easy patient.

"Well off you go!" He said trying to shoo her out of his presence. "Go and get cleaned up. Have a wash or something. What would happen if we were seen together? You look like a melted tramp," he teased turning back to the blackboard.

Clara smiled as she got up and headed down the stairs. Despite his ribbing there was deep affection between them. It was part of their dance.

The Doctor turned and watched her leave, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "Clara, Clara, Clara," he said to himself quietly.


End file.
